


Double Your Agents, Double Your Fun

by alltoseek



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Duck-feeding PSA, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Slash if you squint, South Downs, The Arrangement, broadly interpreted, feeding the ducks, following orders, not always as fun as it sounds, obscure 80's references, slash goggles: wear 'em if you've got 'em, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: “Just so I’m clear,” Crowley said carefully, “you want me to turn the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, into a double-agent for Hell, correct?”





	1. Mayfair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grue/gifts).



> Much appreciation, as always, to my indefatigable betas, feroxargentea and alcyone301

Replete from a delightfully long repast at the Ritz and mellowed by the finest wines they had to offer (finer even than the sommelier had believed were available in their cellars), Crowley settled in for a relaxing evening of terrorising the houseplants and watching “The Golden Girls” on the television.

He resolutely did not think about his office upstairs, and what stench of holiness might be mingled with the stain of evil incarnate there.

He’d just shaken off the last of the jitters from the past week of horror and was thoroughly enjoying Blanche’s subtle seduction of the world into mindless lust and frivolity, when Dorothy turned to face out of the screen and addressed him directly. “Crawly!” she said.

_ No no no, _ thought Crowley.

“CRAWLY!” Dorothy said sternly, frowning.

“Yes, lord, I’m listening.”

“You have royally fixed up this time, Crawly.”

“I’m sorry, lord, my deepest apologies.”

“Your apologies are meaningless!” screeched Sophia, the little shrew-like one.

“I-- Yes, lord.”

“Fortunately for you we have a way for you to despoil yourself once more in our eyes,” cooed Blanche.

“Yes, lord? I will do my bes-- my worst, lord, certainly.”

“Yes, you will,” said Rose, and smiled. Crowley hadn’t known that innocent Rose could make a smile look so malevolent. “The unFallen, the one who so brazenly dared to argue with Prince Beelzebub himself, as you stood idly by --”

“Ready to intervene, as required,” muttered Crowley.

“What did you say?” asked Blanche with suspicious gentleness.

“Nothing, nothing at all!” replied Crowley.

“That one,” continued Dorothy, “showed the type of conniving initiative, manipulative intent, and annoying perseverance that we like to see in our agents. That we’d thought we had in you, Crawly, only to find ourselves disappointed.”

“It won’t happen again, lord, I promise.” 

Rose snorted and gestured dismissively. “Don’t worry. A reliable demon? The first sign of the true Apocalypse, no doubt.”

All four gave shark-like grins, and Crowley laughed weakly at what was apparently intended as a joke.

“Therefore,” said Dorothy, “you will recruit the unFallen to our side immediately.”

_ What?  _ “What?” asked Crowley, blankly.

“Did I stutter?” demanded Sophia.

“No, no - I, uh, just to clarify, lord, you wish me t-to t-tempt the angel into Falling?” asked Crowley, himself stuttering a bit, as an unnerving sensation slithered through his innards. All the more unnerving since slithering sensations were generally par for the course for him, so why this one should disturb him so--

Fortunately Rose interrupted his paradoxical introspection. “Nothing so crude,” she sneered.

“Those Above would simply send another in his place,” added Blanche. Was that a speculative glint in her eye? 

Crowley shuddered at said glint, but overall felt relieved. He noted that the unnerving slithery feeling was gone. Yes. That would account for his feeling of relief.

“He did wrong enough even though unFallen,” continued Blanche. “Why, he argued with the Metatron Itself! In full possession of his own self-righteousness. No. He shows great potential for use in his current state of non-damnation. All you need to do is ensure that he is on our side.”

Crowley frowned and thought. “You mean, turn him into a double-agent?”

The four on the screen looked at each other. “If that term means what we think it does, yes,” agreed Dorothy.

“Just so I’m clear,” he said carefully, “you want me to turn the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, into a double-agent for Hell, correct?”

“Exactly, you moron!” said Sophia. “Now quit with the yammering and dithering and get on with it!”

He didn't say anything aloud but mentally he was blessing really really hard.

“We heard that!” yelled Sophia. 

“Now, Crawly, you're the First Tempter, the Serpent of Eden, the Instigator of Original Sin,” said Blanche, doing a fair imitation of serpentine sin instigation herself. “You started it all. If anyone can do it, you can. We have the utmost confidence in your ability.”

_ Right. _ “Thanks,” he said, a little bitterly.

“And if not, we'll send someone up there,” she added, pointing a well-manicured crimson nail upwards, “to take your place, and bring you down here,” in a streak of red the finger twisted and dropped, “where you'll spend all eternity feeding the ducks on Satan's ornamental pond.”

_ That doesn't sound so bad _ , Crowley had just time to think.

“We understand you enjoy feeding ducks. You’ll like Satan's ducks - at least, they’ll like  _ you _ . They particularly enjoy a diet of demon flesh.”

_ Ah. _

“Much healthier than bread. Too much carbohydrates cause angel wing, you know,” Rose said earnestly. “Can’t have  _ that!” _ she tittered.

“Oh?”  Crowley was beginning to feel a bit desperate to bring this little communiqué to a close.

“So you'd cut off little pieces of yourself one at a time,” Rose explained.

“Right--”

“There are a lot of ducks,” said Dorothy.

“Yes, I get the idea--”

“You'd have to cut off nearly your whole body every day,” said Blanche, a frisson of pleasure shivering through her body at the thought.

“I understand completely - really, there’s no need to elaborate--”

“But don't worry, you'll regrow your body every night, so you can do it all over again the next day,” concluded Rose with a little sigh of satisfaction.

“I'll deliver results, no problem,” said Crowley with great resolution. 

The television programme shifted into the backlog of adverts, and Crowley shut the blessed thing off. He’d never be able to watch Golden Girls again, bless it. And that had been one of his favourite shows.

 

His evening of relaxation was shot. He leant back and was soon deep in thought. Anyone who cared to observe* would have seen little in the drawing gloom except a lithe dark form eclipsing the ghostly pale shade of the white leather couch, and the two slits of Crowley’s eyes glowing a golden yellow.

 

~~~

*No one did.**

**They’d all learned long ago what happened to observers caught observing.


	2. St James's Park

The demon and the angel stood in companionable silence feeding some rather confused* ducks at the pond.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Not that I object to your kind invitation, my dear, but I had rather thought we’d seen enough of each other for one century. I didn’t expect us to meet up again so soon.”

Crowley scowled and ostentatiously tossed a handful of the duck food he’d brought instead of bread. 

The angel looked curiously at the substitution. 

“Too much bread causes a deformation called ‘angel wing’,” explained Crowley briefly.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? How did you come to learn about this, er, phenomenon?”

“Oh, ah, I was watching television last night.”

“Huh. The things you learn.”

“Yeah,” agreed Crowley glumly, remembering the rest of last night’s ‘programme’.

Aziraphale miracled away the rest of his bread and Crowley shared the duck food he’d brought. The ducks side-eyed them and began wandering in the direction of the Russian cultural attaché, who’d just arrived with his usual rich black bread.

With no distractions left, Crowley finally got round to the reason he’d asked the angel to meet him. “Did we really have anything to do with stopping the Apocalypse? Seems like Adam pretty much did it himself, he and his little gang.”

Aziraphale took a moment to consider. “True, but then how was Adam allowed to grow up uninfluenced? To side with the humans, as it were?”

“It certainly wasn't usss – we tried, remember? Sssstupid godfather idea.”

“Mmm, but how did Adam end up in the wrong household?”

Crowley huffed. “Sheer incompetence.”

_“Your_ sheer incompetence.”

Crowley glared at the angel. Then he lowered his shades so he could glare properly.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “We did stand up against The Great Adversary.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, he never appeared. Which was blessed lucky for us. We didn't stand a chance on Earth. Adam sent him away. Switched him out for his other father.”

“That’s right,” agreed the angel. “And earlier Adam took care of the Horsemen--”

“-persons.”

Aziraphale sent him a puzzled glance.

“They weren't all male, you know.”

“They didn't appear on horses either. Be that as it may. Horse-uh, Motor, er, persons. But then the Metatron and Beelzebub--”

“That was all you talking them down, angel. With ineffable plans and what-not. I would never have dared say anything.”

Aziraphale smiled beatifically at his counterpart. “Yes, but, my dear, however do you think I learned to talk like that?”

 

~~~

*There was an established routine for clandestine meetings of duck-feeding, and these two had appeared out of schedule. Very disruptive to the digestion, not to mention the pecking order.


	3. Surrey

Crowley decided that he deserved a little vacation, considering all his recent hard work, averted Armageddons and what-not.*

He drove south down to the coast, playing Velvet Underground on the Bentley’s Blaupunkt, and the music was going to  _ stay _ Velvet Underground.

Or so Crowley thought, until Lou Reed interrupted himself to speak.  _ CRAWLY, WE HAVE RECEIVED YOUR REPORT. _

“Yes, lord?”

_ YOU SAY THAT YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR TASK ALREADY. _ Lou’s voice expressed some doubt.

“That's correct, lord.”

_ IN ONE DAY. _ This was stated with much scepticism.

“Precisely, lord.”

_ … VERY WELL. _ The voice radiated suspicion and disbelief.

“Thank you, lord.”

_ WE WILL KNOW IF YOU HAVEN’T. _ Here a note - a faint hint - of glee shaded the tone.

“Of course, lord.”

_ YOU WILL BE HEARING FROM US AGAIN. _ No doubt at all in this statement.

“Looking forward to it, lord.”

 Crowley thought to himself that he definitely deserved a vacation, because he was great at his job, even when** he didn't know he was doing it.

 

~~~

*What-not being his flat, which he could no longer stand, as now even his sleep there was disturbed by nightmares of spraying holy water on old ladies only to have them turn into Hastur and drip vile slimy acid all over his floor.

**Especially when.


	4. Soho

Oddly enough, Aziraphale had received an analogous set of orders.*

Aziraphale leant back in his new and comfortable desk chair, behind his new and burnished desk, in his dust-free bookshop brimming with books both new and old (and all valuable). He steepled his hands and tapped his fingers against each other as he pondered.   


He remembered Crowley coming to him right away about Antichrist’s appearance as an infant, although the two of them had not seen each other for decades. Since then they’d been in touch constantly.**

He thought about the Arrangement, still in good working order after a thousand years. In better shape than ever, despite, or perhaps because of, the recent events; as Crowley had just demonstrated by contacting him even after events had resolved themselves. 

He recalled their first conversation, initiated by his counterpart all that time ago in the Garden, when he himself was still Guardian of the Eastern Gate.***

This was possibly the easiest assignment Aziraphale had ever received. 

Considering that it was already done.

However, the angel decided he’d wait a month or so before filing the report. For the look of the thing.

 

~~~

*Although there had been less talk about feeding ducks during this communication, the angel had gathered vague impressions of Julie Andrews and an endless procession of cap-and-gowned graduates, which had left him with a similar distinct lack of ease.

 

**If you’ve been around for six millennia, anything that happened as often as once a year counted as constant.

 

*** _ Sans _ sword at the time, but that hardly mattered. Plus, he had got it back when he needed it.


	5. South Downs

Crowley found himself house-hunting in the South Downs, which seemed to him an odd way to spend his vacation.*

Upon reflection, he knew why he wanted to move out of his London flat, of course.**  What he couldn’t understand was why he viewed all the properties with an eye toward housing a lot of books (and _oh, that built-in display case near the south-facing window would make the light glint off silver Regency snuff-boxes in a delightful way_ ) as well as his houseplants and a garden and the Bentley.

At one promising home (front rooms could be converted into a shop; upstairs had an office and a spacious deck as well as a large bedroom with ensuite) Crowley noted with irritation that another estate agent was driving up a client to view it. He flicked his fingers to make them leave. A few minutes later, Crowley was inspecting the pantry’s capacity for housing a wine collection when he heard Aziraphale’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“Crowley, my dear, whyever did you send my estate agent away?”

Startled, and trying not to show it, Crowley turned and leaned against the pantry doorway. He gave the angel a long cool stare and brushed invisible dust off his suit jacket. It was being startled (demons are rarely taken by surprise; it’s typically the other way round) that caused the sudden unnerving slithery sensation*** in the centre of his torso, Crowley decided, not the unexpected sight of Aziraphale’s worn, kind, friendly face.

“If you must know, angel,” said Crowley, “I’m considering purchasing this property, and a second agent would be redundant.”

“Oh, er, then perhaps at this point I should probably apologise for having already sent your estate agent away.”

Crowley frowned. “You want this place too? What’s wrong with your Soho shop?”

“Besides having burnt down? Of course it’s all fixed up now, but _I_ still know, you know.”

Crowley nodded in sympathetic agreement. “Still, it’s a bit out of the way here, for a bookshop,” he said, with a sideways glance at the angel.

Aziraphale waved that off. “I only ever entertained serious collectors.” Collectors had to be extremely serious indeed to get anything at all from Mr Fell, entertaining or not.

“So you’re looking at places with bedrooms and gardens? Do you even know what to do with those?”

It was the angel’s turn to frown. “It’s a bit out of the way for those showy, stylish fashions of yours, too, I would think. Who are you trying to impress here?”

Crowley looked off to the side as he felt his face begin to flush. Blessed corporations.

“Oh. Ah,” said Aziraphale, in an understanding tone. “I was rather wondering why I kept thinking about soil conditions and sunlight, neither of which is necessary for my own comfort,” he murmured softly, as if to himself.

Crowley’s uncomfortable slithery stomach sensation resolved into a cosy warm feeling.

Considering their convenient old Arrangement****, living together just made sense.

 

~~~

*as opposed to house- _haunting_ , which was much more likely. He was a demon, not a ghost, but that’s what made it such a fun vacation, see.

 

** _cf._ nightmares, vile; stenches, holy; stains, evil; etc.

 

***No, not the _normal_ slithery sensation he carried with him everywhere. This was a strange and different slithery sensation. That’s what made it so unnerving.

 

****And particularly the new updated Arrangement, which each of them was careful never to mention to the other.


End file.
